


The Lifeline

by writerfan2013



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, OR IS IT, Reveal Fic, The Beginning of the End
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerfan2013/pseuds/writerfan2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry and Jo and choices and changes. Gentle romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In some professions, the microscope holds a world swimming on the slide. Tiny organisms, brimming with the life force, thronged and floated in the bright circle. In other professions, the slide held only the static pattern of magnified death.

The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds, marking time and solitude. It was evening and everyone in the lab had gone home. Everyone but Henry Morgan.

Henry winced and straightened his back.

His was the silent, still world. It suited him, the quiet, thorough work, and he was good at it. Sometimes he thought about retiring, but then how would he fill his endless days and where would he go to study the absence of life? Getting yourself killed for science was a young man's game.

His phone buzzed on the desk in his office. He switched off the microscope and went through. "Hello, Abe. I'm late for supper again, aren't I?"

His voice still held the lilt of green valleys long ago and far away. Two centuries of life and travel hadn't stifled that, any more than it had changed his bright brown eyes or full head of brown curly hair.

Abe said, "It's in the warmer. I'll wait for the food, but I've started on the wine."

Henry laughed. "I'll be home in half an hour."

"It's good wine," said Abe. "Suit yourself, but when it's gone, it's gone."

Henry ended the call. On his desk was a fold of paper, torn from his own jotter pad. Neat, stiff handwriting adorned the back of it: his name. He ripped it open.

_Henry. Dropped by but I can see you're up to your neck in it. Thanks for your work today. Jo._

That was nice. He liked that she let him work. She must have seen him in the lab and purposely not bothered him. The note was typically direct. He liked that too.

The note went into his coat.

He filed away the latest slide and updated his case notes: inconclusive. The victim had been perfectly healthy at time of death, and the trace evidence at the crime scene had given them no motive for what was obviously murder. Henry knew that this was only the latest of these deaths, though others had gone to other MEs around the state.

"No joy," said Jo Martinez, leaning in the medical examination room doorway.

"I wouldn't say that," said Henry. He smiled at her.

Slight, dark and fierce, Jo was his unofficial NYPD partner. She was brutally efficient, fearless in a fight, and liked to tease Henry about his solitary lifestyle. And she was very beautiful, not that she appreciated his comments to that effect.

"What have you got?" she asked, coming in, all business.

Henry indicated the spread of paperwork on his desk. "My report isn't ready yet."

"In a word. Come on, Henry. You must have a theory."

Her dark eyes were daring him to say what the whole department had been whispering since the latest victim was found. "All right. If you insist. Deliberate exsanguination."

He paused for dramatic effect, but Jo was too down to earth to make Dracula jokes. "Why?"

"I don't know. But most of the blood was removed from the scene. My best theory is that this is the world of an individual or group with a vampire fixation. They're trying to emulate the supposed behaviour of bloodsuckers."

"Sick," said Jo. "Plus, did nobody tell them that vampires are not real?" She perched on the edge of his desk, grimacing at the crime scene snaps.

Henry shrugged. "I suppose not. There is a thriving subculture of would be blood drinkers."

"There is?" Her eyes widened. "Here in New York."

He loved to surprise her. "Not three blocks from here is a very exclusive club where various blood types can be ordered by the glass." He watched her reaction, disgust fighting the cynical mask she wore at work.

"Grim." She wrinkled her nose.

"Yes. But it might be worth talking to some of the regulars. If demand is high, somebody might be trying to make a fast buck."

She smiled. "That phrase just doesn't work in British." She slid down from his desk. "You just finishing up?"

"Yes. Abe has dinner ready." He hesitated. "Care to join us?"

Two strikes: this time her surprise was complete. "I, uh, I couldn't."

"Of course you could. We'd be delighted." Henry slipped on his coat and wound his scarf around his neck. "In this weather, one of Abe's pot roasts is just what's called for."

"Well -"

"Excellent. I'll call Abe on the way, let him know."

 


	2. Chapter 2

In the precinct's foyer, now wrapped in winter coat, hat and gloves, Jo smiled shyly at him. "Thanks Henry."

"Any time." he said, holding back the door.

He followed her outside, his eyes on her slim figure, crunching across the salted parking lot, her stride full of determined independence. She seemed tired tonight though, the energy rather deliberate and forced.

She was waiting for him at the kerb. "Keep up, Henry. It's grit, not ice. We're not ninety."

"That we're not," he agreed.

* * *

"I thought we would get a cab," she said.

"I prefer the fresh air. Invigorating after all day in the lab.". He had his hands in his pockets and was striding along, huffing in satisfaction. His breath clouded the freezing air. "I usually walk home," he said.

"Don't you worry about getting mugged?"

"Not really."

He was a true oddball. Sometimes she thought she had a handle on him - fussy, academic, firmly old fashioned - and then he would startle her out of it with some random statement. "You ever been attacked?"

"Oh yes. But I've always survived." He was chuckling to himself, and flirting a little.

She was too bushed to appreciate it. Maybe after dinner. One of these days they were going to get round to it. "That's no guarantee, Henry."

He smiled sideways at her.

"I know you don't carry a weapon," she said. "So what would you do if some bunch of thugs jumped out at you?"

"Step smartly behind you, shouting, she's got a gun."

"Ha, ha."

His eyes twinkled. "I know I'm not invincible, believe me."

"Especially with this guy still on the loose." The unpleasantness of these latest deaths was wearing in everybody. They had started way up state, and then, seemingly, spread around the city. There was a method to the madness, Jo was sure, but the killer was highly efficient and had never been so much as glimpsed.

"I'm not concerned about vampires," Henry said as they waited at a crossing.

"Well, we know he's not that. But he's vicious and prepared to kill. And he's moved into New York City. You have to take it seriously." The killings all happened in the victims' homes, and were horribly neat.  "He might be after our blood right now," she added when her previous remarks got no reaction.

The Walk light showed. But Henry didn't move. He grasped her arm. "That's a very good point," he said. "What if they're not trying to collect blood to sell, but to experiment on?"

His face appeared sickly and spooky in the green Walk light. His fingers tightened around her arm. As she looked down he let go. "Rare blood types," he said. "They're not just of interest for medical donation. There's all sorts of research into synthetic blood. This might be linked to some illegal R and D."

"Ok." She nodded, filing the idea away. But Henry seemed oddly keyed up. "We'll look into that as well," she said. "What else do you know?"

"Not much," he confessed. "The living are not really my area."

"Me neither," she said. And done days, some nights , that was exhausting.

"Can I borrow your phone?" asked Henry. "I'd like to take a look at the data from the previous deaths."

"There's nothing you don't know." But she handed it over as they headed into the wind.

"Perhaps. But with your mapping software, I might see a geographical pattern - Oh God.". He thrust her phone back at her and grabbed his own. "Abe? Pick up. Abe!"

"What's wrong?" Jo stepped to the kerb and hailed a cab.

"The victims have all been found at my old addresses." Henry practically threw Jo into the cab.

She scrambled across the back seat as he sprang in too. "You think this is about you? Why would it be?"

"It's complicated," he said. He reached for her hand. "I can explain. But let's get Abe safe first."

"You've seen this before, haven't you?" she asked slowly. The cab swung side to side as it left the bridge and began climbing the steep streets to Brooklyn Heights.

"Not this exact thing, no. But the stalking... The gradual homing in on us...yes." He looked stricken.

She squeezed his hand. "We're almost there. Abe will be ok. And like you said, I'm armed."

* * *

 

"Looks secure." Jo scanned the darkened store while Henry fumbled with the keys.

"Looks can deceive. Abe! Abe!"

For a moment there was no reply. Streetlight gleamed off dark shapes crowding the store. Henry flipped the light switch and three faux oil lamps brightened. The shapes resolved as candlesticks, pokers, clocks - and Abe, holding a dishtowel, coming up the stairs from Henry's office.

"Thank God," said Henry, and ran to embrace him. "What were you doing down there?"

"I thought I heard a noise," said Abe. He swatted Henry away with the dishtowel. "Jo, what a pleasure. Henry didn't tell me he was bringing a date."

Jo moved towards Abe to kiss him hello. She saw his face change, and his lips begin Henry's name.

She whirled around to see a masked figure step up from Henry's office, holding something long, which glinted in the lamplight. The man launched himself across the store, aiming the sword straight at Henry's neck.

There was no time to cry out. The man was behind Henry with the weapon sweeping towards him. Jo shoved Henry aside and reached for her gun. But her awkward motion threw her directly into the swinging path of the blade.

Henry fell, winded by Jo's tackle. Abe ran forward. Jo smashed her gun into the attacker's masked face, making contact with a crunch.

And then Henry was on his feet, a poker in his hand, thrashing the attacker down, down onto the Persian carpet.

"I got the gun!" Abe brandished Jo's weapon.

"Abe no!" Jo cried out. Henry paused and the moment was enough for the attacker to struggle up and stagger from the store.

Henry ducked as Abe swung round with the gun. "For pity's sake-"

"He's getting away!"

"But we're safe, that's all that matters -" Henry lay down the poker and Abe sighed and put down the gun.

Then there was a crash as Jo thudded full length onto the carpet.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note:_  my personal soundtrack for this story was  _Don't let me go_  by Raign. Just saying.

* * *

The patterns on the antique rug swirled and pooled, making intricate connections with each other before spraying out to the fringes. Tiny birds darted among spiralling ferns; ribbons of blue entwined long nosed foxes and shimmering dragonflies. And then a crimson cloud covered them all.

Henry was on his knees beside Jo. The wound was terrible, a slice across her shoulder, a hefty slice, the blow intended for him. Henry tore off his scarf and bound it around her, crying out for Abe to bring bandages. "Jo..." His hands worked quickly, with the deftness of two centuries' knowledge. He stopped the bleeding, made her comfortable, cleaned the wound and bound it. But she was unconscious and there was not enough time.

If he could give the gift of time, an extra dose of years to be taken in a thick green mouthful off a tarnished old spoon, he would do it. He would have done it for Abe, for all the people he knew and loved. He had stood in the shadows of the yew tree in too many churchyards not to know his own selfishness. He would certainly give more time to those he loved if he had the power. But he did not.

"She's lost too much blood," Henry said. He held Jo's hand in his. "By the time an ambulance gets here she'll be dangerously in shock." He took Jo's hand. The delicate designs woven into the rug had turned into jeering blots, already thickening.

"We gotta do something," said Abe.

"There is an answer," said Henry. The blots mocked him but he knew how to answer them. He lay Jo's hand gently by her side and began rolling up his sleeve. "A field transfusion."

"Henry, no", said Abe. "She needs help, in a hospital, with a qualified doctor."

"I  _am_  a qualified doctor, "said Henry. "And we can't wait. Now, Abe, get my old kit bag. I'll need to lie down, ideally. She's lost a great deal of blood and so she will need a great deal of mine."

"Henry -"

"No arguments, Abraham."

"Other people's parents don't give them this much trouble", said Abe. But he did as he was told.

The transfusion began and Henry lay back on a clean patch of the rug. His expression was tranquil. "It will take some time, Abe," he said. "You don't need to stay."

"Oh yes I do."

"Then can you at least bring me a drink? I might become dehydrated."

"All right."

"Lemon tea. Let it infuse for at least five minutes or the flavour won't be right. Oh, and can you bring me some biscuits, the shortbreads out of the tin at the far end of the counter? If they've run out, the shop on the corner has some."

Abe looked at Henry.

"It's all right," said Henry. "Jo's getting better, look."

She was gaining colour, and her breathing seemed to have steadied. Henry, pale, smiled at Abe. "Oh, Abe? Could you reach into my pocket for me? I don't want to disturb the tubes..."

He grinned ruefully and indicated his arm, joined to Jo's in a thin red line.

Abe felt in Henry's coat pocket, "What is it, what do you need?"

"Just that folded paper, that's the one, thank you." Henry ruffled Abe's hair with his spare hand. "Now, tea, please."

Abe heaved a sigh and went.

Alone, Henry unfolded the note with his free hand and held it up to his face. There was Jo's handwriting. It was the only thing she had ever given him. It was not romantic, but then neither was he. That was his curse. Well, that and the obvious.

Henry smiled, and let the paper lie against his lips for a moment. Jo had no obligation to give a fig for Henry, and yet she did.

He checked the transfusion again. All was well. He was growing weak but that was fine. That was to be expected.

He curled the note in his fist and closed his eyes. Not long now. Jo would be all right.

* * *

Jo opened her eyes.

Her arm hurt, really hurt like it had been tied up. She wriggled and found that she was indeed tied, but to a medical tube, like a catheter, like a -

Blood donor line.

She struggled upright. Her head hurt. Everything hurt, but she was alive, despite the frightening amount of blood on the rug.

Henry was beside her. She saw the line going from her arm to his.

"Oh god. Henry." She didn't know what to do. He'd given her blood, obviously, but she didn't know how to remove the tube, stop it. She was afraid of hurting herself and him even more if she just undid the thing -

"Henry!"

He didn't move. A new fear gripped her. "Henry." Her voice was hoarse. She said his name again, quietly, because she could see now that his chest was still, that his skin was slack. In his hand was a piece of paper, the note she left him earlier.

She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything.

She was holding Henry's hand when Abe came in from the street holding a paper grocery bag.

She turned to him. "Abe," she said. "I think." She stopped. This was not the way for anyone to find their child. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Abe was beside them more quickly than Jo would have thought possible. "Henry, no," he said, his face crumpling. The grocery bag spilled open onto the bloodstained rug. Then his manner changed and became brusque. "Let's get you out of this," Abe said to Jo, expertly untying the transfusion gear. "Come on, come away now."

"But Henry."

"It's ok, it's ok."

"It's not ok!"

Abe put his arm around Jo's shoulder. "Henry cares for you very much," he said. "I've never known him do anything like this before. For anyone."

It was a weird thing to say, and in the wrong tense too. Must be the shock. Jo sniffed. "Where's my phone? I need to call this in -"

"Just wait a few minutes," said Abe. His old fingers held Jo's tightly. "I've been here before. Things are never as bad as you think they're going to be. "

"He saved my life," said Jo.

"He's a fool for love," said Abe. "When he met my mother it was love at first sight. He always told me he just knew. And with you... well, same thing, I guess."

"Your mother?" Henry and some... hundred-year-old lady? This now made absolutely no sense whatsoever. She yelped as her shoulder wound throbbed.

"Me, I'm the practical type," said Abe. "Not that I get any thanks."

Jo felt a rush of horror and guilt. "Henry -" This gentle man had defended her, given his life for her in the most basic and literal sense, and she would never have the chance to tell him thank you. She would never be able to let him know she was starting to care. "I think-" said Jo.

She never finished the sentence. Abe lay her hand on Henry's silent chest, folding her fingers over his and the note, and even as the wool of Henry's waistcoat rasped her skin, Henry vanished. The note fluttered to the rug and Jo and Abe were left crouching beside a patch of empty air.

Abe groaned. "My knees won't take much more of this. Help me up, would you?"

Jo gave him her arm. "That's - what happened?"

Abe smiled and patted her arm. "What always happens when Henry dies. He comes back."


	4. Chapter 4

"I ought to be driving you to the hospital," Abe said.

"I'm OK. Take me to Henry," said Jo. "Make me believe." Or, she thought, cure yourelf of this terrible hope, Abe. Better to have your heart broken than to have false dreams.

"Did you pick up his scarf? He'll be cold."

"I got it. And his..underwear. " A complete set of fresh clothes, in fact. She held a large bundle of them on her lap.

"This is a little weird," said Abe. "Doing this with company. I'm usually alone. I lost count of the times I've fished him out of the East River.'"

Jo was getting a weird feeling too. The East River. Where the cops had picked Henry up several times for nudity, bizarre late night swimming and the like.

Abe jerked his head sideways at her. "Yeah, it's always water. We lived a lot of different places, but since we moved to New York City it's the East River. Don't ask me."

"Naked," said Jo.

"As a baby."

"OK."

Abe brought the car up undereath Manhattan Bridge. "You up for a walk?"

"I'm good."

"I'm getting too old for this," Abe said. He locked the car with slow care. "And it's too damn cold."

Jo, holding Henry's clothes, looked around. Manhattan gleamed on the other side of the water. The gothic arches of Brooklyn Bridge loomed to the left. The newly reformed beach and park between the two was crusting over with the sparkle of a hard February frost. Abe was right. It was too cold. If Henry was indeed somewhere in the water, he would freeze to death before he ever got to shore.

"There!" Abe pointed at a splash, fifty feet out in the water.

The splash resolved into a hand, thrust above the waves. Then a head, and then arms, rotating in the regular rhythm of a strong swimmer, heading for shore.

The man came closer and closer. He had dark hair. He touched bottom and stood, smearing his face clear of water, his hair slicked back. He coughed, and began wading up the shore, each step dragging. He was naked.

Who swims naked in the East River at night in winter?

Henry Morgan.

Abe hurried forward and wrapped him in a towel. Henry smiled, a sweet smile Jo had never seen before, and Abe shook his head despairingly. "Is she all right?" Henry asked.

"See for yourself," said Abe.

Henry turned in the direction of Abe's pointing finger, and his mouth fell open. "Jo."

It really was him. Jo's fingers were numb. The pile of clothes flopped to the stones and the wind tugged them away.

Henry clutched the towel about his neck and battled up the slope to her. "Jo, I'm so glad -"

His frank face and open arms filled her vision. His arms went around her and he hugged her tightly. "I thought we'd lost you," he said. "I was terrified. Just - terrified, Jo."

She stood with her arms at her sides, pinned by his own. Seawater was soaking into her coat. He was pulling her head against his cold wet chest. "Henry. You gave me your blood."

"Yes. And it worked, thank God."

"You died, "she said, leaning back to check his face. It was certainly him. Solid and real and grinning like a fool.

"This has happened before," she said.

"Many times."

Abe coughed extravagantly behind Henry. Jo realised she was pressed against a man wrapped in an inadequate towel. She squirmed free. The front of her coat was wet. Henry's clothes were twenty feet away and fluttering further in the wind. She ran to fetch them. Abe headed back to start the car.

"Forgive me," said Henry, drying himself without embarrassment. "If you'll just give me a minute."

Jo came to her senses. "In the car" she said. "No need to get arrested again."

"I just say I'm an inveterate sleepwalker," Henry said.

"Yeah, about that, nobody believes a word of it."

"Oh."

At last he was fully clothed, and somewhat dry. They had not made any move to get in the car.

So was it a big deal that he gave his life for her...or not? All known measures had been cracked open by the night's events.

"I don't expect you to understand," said Henry. "I don't understand, myself."

Jo held out the note he had been holding when he died. "This is yours," she said.

His eyes flickered.

Jo glanced at the car. Abe was not visible. The beach was dim. She stepped to Henry and said, "I never knew I'd have a chance to say this but. Thank you." It was for her to be clear now. She kissed his cheek.

"Ah, Jo," he said. He wrapped his arms round her waist. "You've been a friend to me. It was the least I could do. "

"A friend," she said.

They stared at each other.

"Well," said Henry.

"Yeah," said Jo.

She freed hersef from his arms but reached for his hand. She drew him up towards the waiting car. "We should probably talk about this."

"I completely agree," Henry said.

They were at the car, and Jo let go of Henry's hand. "Sorry. I just - Not with your father sitting right there."

Henry looked guilty. "It's worse than that." Abe was hiding behind a newspaper. "He's my son. I'm completely mortyifying him right now."

Jo laughed and they got into the back of the car, minding Jo's hurt shoulder. She realised that she should feel shock at all these impossibilities, perhaps horror, or the ghostly touch of her childhood religion, but all she knew was calm acceptance. Her arm ached where the tube, the line of life, had pierced her.

She touched Henry's hair, so dark and young. "You ... don't age."

"I return every time the same," Henry confirmed.

Questions crowded into Jo's head but she set them aside. "Impossible. But I'm quickly getting used to that." She frowned. "So what's this?" She smoothed her fingers over his temple.

"What?"

Abe turned in alarm, and Henry peered into the rear view mirror. "My God," he breathed. There, solitary but distinct, was a silver hair.

Abe rolled his eyes and started the engine.

"I've aged!" Henry clutched at Abe's shoulder. "Maybe finally it's the end!"

"Fantastic," said Abe. " You think we could eat dinner first?"

 


End file.
